Mine isn’t. My superpower isn’t forgiveness. My superpower is grace. The difference between forgiveness and grace helps me to live in this weary world. Helps me not to be discouraged by human failure. By mistakes and missteps. There is space for us to have a different relationship because I am filled with grace. Because I mean you no harm.
We might be different, you and I.
And we might not be.
There has to be space for the unexpected. In our lives, in our relationships. There must be space for us to sprint. To get air into our narrow chests and feel our lungs burn.
A black boy dead on the grass, his feet crossed, his open eyes staring. He might have been my boy. He might have been my child. You don’t have to be like me. You can be demure and slinky. Talk with an accent. Vote for anarchists. You can be born in another place where they use another alphabet. You can pray to nothing. To devils. To gods. What your skin holds — isn’t that the thing? — your brain and your heart and your conscience. You might be my child. Whatever your age. Wherever you live. I can mother you. How would I know you’re not my brother? How would I know you’re not my child?
I don’t need to forgive you. You don’t need to forgive me. Our situation allows for anything. Familial on this planet. Brothers all. Because I mean you no harm.